“He personally phoned the mayor and asked him to come over later to talk.”
“Did Ryan agree?”
“Looks that way. The captain just asked me to make sure that a special parking spot be marked for the mayor in our lot as a welcome. It’s supposed to separate him from the patrol cars as a sign of respect.”
“Sounds promising,” Gardner said.
Yet it puzzled him; this sudden courtesy on the chief’s part seemed out of character. The truth was, neither man had any regard for the other. But he had other things to worry about and decided to put the matter out of his mind.
He’d told Bert they were close to solving the Bradshaw case, yet he wasn’t certain. Things weren’t going smoothly; he was afraid they were chasing down false leads. Still, he had to make the effort. He’d felt ever since he met George Page that the builder had a part in this. He was definitely hiding something. Maybe Cheryl McNeill could confirm it. It wouldn’t surprise him to find out she’d held back on some piece of important information.
SEVENTEEN
As Cheryl McNeill opened her apartment door, Gardner was again reminded of Bradshaw’s excellent taste in furnishings as well as women. He and Bert St. Croix were ushered into the elegant green velvet living room and seated on chairs too good to actually sit on.
“I thought it was all over with. Why do you want to see me again?” She tapped long, vermilion fingernails on a rosewood end table and gave him a suspicious look. “When can I leave for California?”
“Ms. McNeill, we do have a few more questions for you. I hope it won’t be necessary to delay your departure. However, you are the one person who knew Mr. Bradshaw best. You also knew his friends.”
“Not all of them.” Her expression was guarded.
“You knew George Page, didn’t you?” His voice was polite but firm.
He watched the tall, slender brunette carefully. Her expression barely changed, yet he could tell the mention of Page’s name somehow upset her.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she replied, sitting in a stiff manner.
“I was given to understand Mr. Bradshaw introduced you to Mr. Page.” He was playing a hunch. But his unique intuition was rarely wrong.
“I never heard of the man. Look, Joan confessed to killing Rick. Doesn’t that end it? I want you both out of here. I’m not going to say another word. I didn’t kill Rick. I don’t know anything. Leave me alone! I’ve suffered enough.” She pushed her long dark brown hair back from her face, eyes blazing.
He rose abruptly, realizing it was pointless to try and interrogate her any further at this time. “The question of who killed your friend is far from settled. You’ll have to postpone your plans and remain in New Jersey somewhat longer. If you do happen to recall anything about Mr. Page or anyone else, give us a call.”
She received his final comments less than enthusiastically and slammed the door behind them as they left the apartment. Gardner remembered having once thought that Cheryl McNeill had qualities similar to his daughter Evie; he decided the analogy had been faulty.
* * * *
The Page residence was large and impressive, and about as easy to get into as Fort Knox. They first had to state their business to a man at the front gate. The grounds were surrounded by a high stone wall that extended around the front of the house, and as far as he could tell ended somewhere deep in the woods. Gardner thought of the implications of the poem by Robert Frost: were fences meant to keep people out or to keep people in? Why did Page need a veritable fortress?
They’d done their homework. Bert had phoned Page’s office earlier, and after a run-around of being put on hold countless times, finally discovered Page was working from home that day, not from his office.
A male servant opened the door to the Page residence. The face was bearded and there was a sharp, aquiline beak overshadowing the rest of his features. The most impressive thing about him was his build. He looked more like a linebacker than a butler.
‘You want somethin’?” The sandpaper voice had a thick New York City accent.
“The fellow at the gate cleared us. We’re police officers here to see Mr. Page.” Gardner would have to be blind not to notice the look of cold contempt on the other man’s face or the bulge under his jacket.
“It’ll be a while. Mr. Page is busy.”
“We’re willing to wait,” he responded without any trace of emotion.
“Let me see some I.D.” When the butler was satisfied, he left them standing in the large vestibule on the best pink Italian marble that money could buy. A window of Madonna and Child in stained glass faced him. An ornate chandelier of fine crystal loomed over them. For a moment, Gardner wasn’t certain whether he was in a private home or a Renaissance cathedral.
They had to wait at least fifteen minutes before Page appeared. Bert paced restlessly while Gardner studied his surroundings with detachment. When the builder finally appeared, his expression was one of animosity. He looked dapper in a white knit golf shirt and slate gray slacks. As before, his black hair was slicked back. Small creases formed at the corner of his mouth as he frowned at them.
“Why are you here?” he was standing above them on a wide, formal staircase.
“We have a little problem we think you could help us with. In fact you’re the only one who can.”
Page narrowed his intense, dark eyes. “I don’t know anything that could help you and I’m a very busy man.” He spoke with the authority of a person accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.
“So I understand, but you’re wrong about not being able to help us.”
Page descended the staircase with a springy movement. “What do you want?”
“For how long did you know Mr. Bradshaw?”
Page licked his lips. “Never met the guy.”
“Didn’t you occasionally meet Bradshaw in the evening when you went swimming at the club?”
Page made a point of rising slightly on the balls of his feet. He was obviously sensitive about being several inches shorter than Gardner. “If I wanted to swim, I’d put a pool out back. I’ve got plenty of land for it.”
“The pool you built at La Reine Gardens is beautiful. I doubt many resort hotels have anything nicer. And you do consider it yours. It’s not unreasonable for you to swim there in the evening when few other people are around. You might even prefer to enjoy the pool after hours, have it all to yourself or share it with a few select guests.”
Gardner could see that Page was uneasy. “Look, I didn’t know Bradshaw. I never met the guy. Never went near the pool at night. And you can’t prove otherwise.”
“Suppose I told you I have a witness who puts you at the pool?”
“The night Bradshaw died? I wanna know who that person is!”
“Just like there are things you won’t tell me, Mr. Page, there are things I’m not obliged to tell you.”
“Get the hell out of my house! Cops or no cops, you’re trespassing. I can get you fired if I want.”
Gardner was not particularly disturbed by the builder’s outburst. It meant that the questions had struck a nerve, proof he was hiding something.
“Thank you for your time and civility, Mr. Page. We can show ourselves out.” His mild sarcasm was comprehended by Page, whose face reddened.
Once they left the house, Gardner spoke to Bert. “What did you think?”
“Same as you, the guy knows more than he’s saying. Wish we could get him to talk straight.”
“I think we’ll have to find out more about Page,” Gardner said. “But we better tread lightly.”
“He’s a rich guy with an attitude.”
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
Bert shook her head. “It doesn’t seem right the way the system works. Back in Bed-Stuy, you’d see the big, fancy cars line up and you’d know the pushers and pimps were doing business. Little kids follow them around like they’re gods. And why not? They’re the ones making all the big bucks.
Flaunt it and you get respect, even if you’re a piece of garbage. Ask any street-wise kid what he thinks of cops. He’ll tell you we’re a bunch of assholes because we put our life on the line for a few dollars while the slime lives like kings.”
“Yet you didn’t give yourself over to it.”
“I’ve got my mother to blame for that. She took me to church with her regular. To her, money wasn’t the most important thing in life.”
“You wouldn’t want to change what you are any more than I would.”
“I’d like to change the justice system.” Her eyes glowed with bitterness.
“Whoever said life had to be fair?”
“Come on, Mike, doesn’t it ever get to you?”
“Of course. That’s why I work on maintaining a sense of perspective. According to the philosopher, life is absurd, so I do my best to laugh at it when I can.”
“What would your philosopher think of Page? Would he find amusement in the fact that Page, with his connections and money, can turn our justice system into a revolving door?”
“If Page is guilty of murder, we’ll get him,” Gardner said.
“Now who’s being the idealist?”
“Optimist,” he corrected. “But why not? It doesn’t cost anything extra.” He couldn’t help wondering what was eating at Bert. Would she ever decide to trust him?
Gardner indicated to Bert with a jerk of his head that he wanted her to follow him around to the back of the house.
“What are we doing?” she asked.
“I’m curious about something. Humor me, okay?”
There was a lot of property to the rear of the house. Where the grass ended, a large area looked as if it had been excavated and then refilled with earth. Although the land had been leveled by heavy equipment, there was a distinct difference in elevation. Nothing grew there. It reminded him of a giant grave.
“What do you make of it?”
“I’d guess from the look of it Page once had a swimming pool back here, a good-sized in-ground one,” Gardner said.
Bert raised an eyebrow questioningly. Gardner could only shake his head. The answer to the mystery of why the builder destroyed the pool lay buried with it. Gardner heard the growling of dogs and looked up. There were two large Dobermans held on a leash by a burly man.
“What are you doing back here? Did Mr. Page say you could walk around the grounds?”
The dogs barked with savage intent.
“We were just leaving,” Gardner said, thinking that the larger of the two animals seemed to be salivating.
“That’s good, because these are trained attack dogs and I don’t want to have to let them loose unless I have to.”
“We agree about that,” Gardner said, moving away fast.
* * * *
They drove back to headquarters and spent the better part of two hours checking on Page and finding out whatever they could about his background. In that respect, the computer was a great help. Since Page haled from New York, Gardner went online and had information downloaded from the mainframe in the city.
They learned that Page’s given name had been Georgio Pagenelli and he had a murky background. If he wasn’t a wise guy himself, he was well connected. That had to be the source of his money. The fact he wasn’t possessed of a major criminal record didn’t absolve him. Gardner was well aware that just getting building permits in Webster Township was contingent on greasing the right palms. There were infractions of the building codes all over the township that conveniently went unnoticed by the authorities, all because the right people were paid off.
To build the kind of quality complex that Page had, a large financial investment was required. Page was likely one of the people who took dirty money and invested it in clean enterprises for the families. Webster was the kind of place where no one would ask too many questions. All they cared about was the money itself. Now Page was looking to build a large shopping center. Of course, he wouldn’t want unfavorable publicity; his investors would be spooked.
They could always take the easy route and forget about Page; shady connections didn’t automatically make a man a murderer. Still, Gardner felt an obligation to learn the truth, no matter how sticky things might get for him personally.
He finally logged off, rubbing his eyes. It seemed as if no other detectives were around, but then, it was dinner hour. Only a few detectives would be there regardless.
“Time to quit for today. I’m ready to chow down,” Gardner said to Bert.
“Good idea. I’ve had it too.”
They were headed toward the parking lot when Drew Mitchell saw them and stepped in their way. “Where you going?”
“Out—why?”
“I wouldn’t leave just yet.” The sharp lines of Drew’s face formed a dark expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just walk back and stay inside for a few more minutes. It’s for your own good. And don’t ask questions.” He turned to Bert. “If I spoke out of line before, we’re even now. This is my apology.”
All of a sudden, a rumble went through the building and the walls and windows vibrated.
“Lord, what was that?” Bert said.
They ran out into the parking lot from where the sounds seemed to emanate. A sign saying “Mayor” lay on the ground. Beside it, a car had burst into flames. Gardner flipped open his cell and phoned the fire department.
“Is that why you didn’t want us out in the lot?” Bert said to Mitchell.
He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Guess I better let the chief know what happened. He and the mayor are in conference in his office.”
“Yeah, do that,” she said.
When Mitchell was gone, Bert turned to Gardner. “Why?”
Gardner shrugged. “A warning to the mayor, I guess. Notice they made certain that no one would be injured.”
“Nice of them. Real considerate dudes. What kind of town is this? What kind of cops?”
“You’ll have to answer that for yourself. The fire department is on its way. Let’s get out of here. There’s nothing more we can do right now.”
* * * *
Gardner phoned Kim using his hands-free device as he drove home.
“If you play your cards right, sweetheart, I’ll take you to a movie tonight.”
“Is that your best Bogart imitation?”
”Everybody’s a critic.”
“Jimmy Durante,” she said with a laugh.
“You’re not old enough to know that.”
“Neither are you.”
“Just goes to show how much we have in common,” he said.
“Wooing me again?”
“You bet.”
“What about the girls?”
“Okay, we’ll take the kids with us.”
“They’ll be up past their bedtime.”
“What’s the good of summer vacation if you can’t stay up late once in a while? Can you find a movie that’s okay for all of us?”
“I’d have to be Houdini!”
“You’re great at that kind of stuff. Just make up your mind that we’re going to have a good time regardless.” He hadn’t meant to sound stern, but that whole business about the mayor’s car blowing up had set him on edge.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll check on what’s playing.”
It seemed to him that Kim found it difficult to relax and have fun, almost as if it made her feel guilty. She wanted to be happy but mistrusted the emotion.
“Want me to pick you up?”
“No, I’ll come by your place.”
Evie and Jean were fixing supper when he arrived home. He followed them out to the kitchen, pulled a chilled bottle of Michelob from the refrigerator, fixed some crackers and cheese to go with the beer, went out to the living room, and fooled around with the remote for the TV set. Then he put his feet up on the recliner, feeling drained and fatigued. Just as he got comfortable, his cell phone rang.
“Mike, this is Nash. I’m going to have to take you off t
he Bradshaw case permanently.”
“Mrs. Walling didn’t kill him.”
“Makes no difference. You’ve been harassing George Page. Where’s your brains? Are you sitting on them? I thought you of all people knew how to handle someone like him with tact. I’m reassigning you.”
“I want to finish this,” he said in a quiet but firm voice.
“Look, Mike, you’ve got an excellent record, but you can be replaced.”
“So?”
“You got a family to support. It wouldn’t be easy starting over somewhere else. You’d be forced to take a cut in pay if nothing else.”
“What’s your point?”
“I think you know. Just don’t step on any more toes. I’m warning you for your own sake.”
“What you’re saying is that it’s okay to arrest a murderer as long as it’s someone without any influence like Joan Walling. Just suppose our killer is George Page or someone who works for him? What then? Do we let him get away with it because he’s got juice?”
“I wasn’t saying that.”
“Of course you were.”
“You really think Page could have killed Bradshaw?”
“Right now, I don’t know, but it’s possible. What I do know is that he’s hiding something and it could be important to the case. You want it on your conscience that you might let a murderer get away?”
“You’re still off the case,” Nash said. “That’s an order.”
“Maybe I should lead the investigation into who blew up Mayor Ryan’s car. He might be interested in finding out who’s responsible. I bet he’s awfully angry right about now. I wonder who he thinks did it. Myself, I just might have a pretty good idea.”
“That’s blackmail!”
“I don’t look at it that way.”
“You gonna try a deep throat routine? It won’t work.”
“Just playing the game by your rules. We’ll need a few more days on this case. If we don’t get anywhere by then, you can reassign us.”
“Damned nice of you!”
“Of course, it is. I stand for truth, justice and the American way, just like our fellow police officers in Webster Township.”
The Drowning Pool Page 24